


Sea Change: Part One

by TextualDeviance



Series: The Raven and the Dove [12]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cuddling, F/M, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1694228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TextualDeviance/pseuds/TextualDeviance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ragnar's return from war has brought with it a chaos that cannot be undone, and Athelstan is caught in the middle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sea Change: Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the middle of 2x01. Follows [Atonement](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1690484).

Under the circumstances, Ragnar’s technical ownership of him included, avoiding the earl entirely wasn’t going to be possible forever. Still, Athelstan had managed to keep him at least at arm’s length since his return from the bloody battle that had claimed Arne’s life and badly wounded Floki. It helped that Ragnar was occupied with so many other things: dealing with Rollo’s treachery, fighting with Lagertha over Aslaug, whoever that was, and mourning the loss of Gyda in addition to all the political wranglings with the king and Jarl Borg. Occasionally, their eyes would meet, and there was a certain longing and pain in Ragnar’s that almost made Athelstan reconsider, but then the memories of Uppsala would return, and he couldn’t even look at the man.

Strangely, he had managed to forgive Lagertha for her part in the plan to sacrifice him, even though it was, as she had admitted, her idea in the first place. When he first took ill with the plague, she had sat with him, caring for him in his growing delirium, and confessed her guilt in a wash of tears. He had been too weak to properly tell her in words, but it seemed she knew that he understood and had accepted her apology. By the time he surfaced, to learn that Thyri and Gyda had died, the point was utterly moot anyway. Words were not needed as they held each other, in the quiet of the earl’s quarters, while grief overcame them both.

Yet as they had grown closer, forging a friendship that existed outside of what either of them felt for Ragnar, his anger at the other of his would-be sacrificers had not subsided. Thus, when Ragnar finally cornered him the morning after Rollo’s trial, he could not give the man the solace he sought.

“You’ve been avoiding me since my return. Why?” Ragnar searched his face for answers.

Athelstan shrugged. “What is there to say? We cannot change anything that has happened. The world is not the same place as it was when last we were here together.”

“And we are not the same people, are we?” Ragnar sighed heavily.

“I’m afraid not.”

“I miss you. I miss being with you.” He reached up, and tried to stroke Athelstan’s cheek.

Athelstan batted the hand away and took a step back. “I cannot. I have . . . I have returned to my faith. To my vows.”

“What?” Ragnar looked as if something had broken inside him.

“I remain loyal to you as my master. I will perform my household duties as your servant. But I will not, willingly, at least, serve you in that way any longer.” He tried to control his trembling. “My god, as you told me, came through for me, more than once now, and I cannot repay that benevolence with more sin.”

Ragnar’s eyes grew wet. “But I need you, Athelstan. I need your comfort.”

“I am sorry. If you wish comfort of that sort, I suggest seeking it with Lagertha. With your wife.”

Ragnar’s face twisted and reddened. His body tensed, and his hands tightened into fists. For one terrifying moment, Athelstan was afraid he would be struck. Then, all at once, the fire drained out of the earl, and he seemed smaller than he had before. “So be it,” he said, his voice quiet and dark. “Your god must love you, and it is clear that he can do more with that love than I can with mine. I hope he can give you the joy you once gave me.” Turning quickly, arms around himself, he stalked back down to the dock, there to stand and stare at the water as if seeking security from it.

It would be a month before they spoke again.

 

The nights were getting colder, now, so the chill breeze that snuck under his blankets as they were lifted woke him before her voice and touch did.

“Lagertha?” he murmured, sleep in his voice. “What is it?” His vision cleared enough that he could see the firelit glint on her face from where her tears had streaked it.

She climbed in, settling into his ready embrace, and buried her face in his shoulder. “I cannot live like this.” Her voice was a rough whisper. “I cannot give him what he seeks. She can.”

He had expected this. The pain and humiliation had been written on her face from the moment the princess had come to Kattegat. She had tried to be accommodating and friendly—how she had tried—but her fortitude could only go so far. “I’m so sorry.” He stroked her hair, finger-combing the loose, unbraided strands. Although he had returned to his celibacy, he had not been able to give up at least the balm of her presence. The part of him that he had reburied still stirred by having her so close, but it was easily subsumed by something else, now: a sense memory of being in his mother’s arms so long ago. Lonely as he had felt lately, the gentleness of her embrace was sweet succor, and it was clear she had felt the same about him.

“She is everything to him that I am not,” she continued, trying to hold back sobs. “I am but a farmer’s daughter, not a high-born lady. I can bear a shield for him, but not children. It is no wonder that he wishes to keep her. I understand his desire to want to be there for his new child, but I cannot stand to watch this happen--to watch as my own meaning diminishes.”

"I care not what others may think. Your meaning to me has not diminished in the slightest." He dropped a kiss on her forehead.

She smiled sadly. "Thank you for that, but I fear it's not enough to chase away the humiliation of being near her every day."

"So what are you saying?" Worry began to gnaw at his belly.

“I must leave. I must divorce Ragnar. I have decided.”

He pulled back, scanning her face. She was clearly serious. “But where will you go?”

“I have a couple of distant cousins near Hedeby. I sent word to them last week, and they replied that I may stay with them until some other situation presents itself.”

“And Bjorn? What about him?”

Her breath hitched. “That is his decision. I want him to come with me, but I suspect he may choose his father.”

“So you may be alone, then?”

“I hope not.” She met his eyes. “I want you to come with me, Athelstan.”

His mouth hung open for several moments.

“Please,” she said.

“Lagertha . . . I cannot tell you how grieved I am by the possibility of your leaving. My life will have lost one of its greatest lights if you go. But surely you must know that I cannot join you. It is not my choice to make.”

Her lip trembled. “It can happen. Somehow. Our laws are such that I may take a certain amount of shared property with me when I divorce. I could likely take possession of my husband’s thrall. Maybe. I hope.”

He shook his head. “We both know it’s not possible. Ragnar won’t allow it. I am still too valuable to him for his future raiding plans.”

She went quiet and limp in his arms, sniffling.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stroking her damp cheek.

“You still love him, don’t you?” she whispered into his shoulder.

He could not deny it, but he also couldn’t say the words aloud. He simply pulled her closer, as if he could keep her from leaving if he held her tightly enough. In truth, Aslaug’s arrival had bothered him, too. She seemed confused by the position he had in the household, and taken aback when told that she must treat him with more respect than the other slaves and servants. It was clear she was unused to the lines between nobles and thralls being as blurred as Ragnar had made them in his case. Yet it was not only her condescension that had upset him, but a similar reason to the one behind Lagertha’s decision to leave: Aslaug could give Ragnar things that he could not. A hot rush came to his face as he realized that the feelings had not yet left him in their entirety, however much he had begged God for help in making them fade.

“I understand,” Lagertha finally said. “But if you cannot join me, may I ask at least one other favor before I go?”

“Of course. If it is within my power, I will give you whatever I can.”

“If I am to leave without causing chaos, I need to do it under cover. I need to be out of town before Ragnar knows I am gone.”

“I see. How can I help?”

“It is autumn, now. The hills are full with robust prey. Ragnar would surely welcome a chance to get away from the pressures he faces here. Will you suggest that he take you on a hunting day?”

He shivered involuntarily. Memories of their previous “hunting” trips filled his mind. He knew very well that if he suggested such a thing, Ragnar might believe that his intentions were something other than finding a buck or some grouse to shoot. Being alone in the hills would bring a great deal of potential pain and awkward moments. But the pleading look in Lagertha’s eyes convinced him. “Yes. I will do it. Just name the day for me, and it will be done.”

Her tears began anew, and she clung to him desperately. “If ever we meet again, Athelstan, I will find some way to repay you. The gods may have taken from me nearly everything that I have loved, but at least they have granted me the gift of your friendship.” 

  


End file.
